Airmail
by Mrs. R Sparrow
Summary: If you were stranded on a desert island, what would you bring? A. a lost love B. a throng of enemies C. a device of self torture D. all of the above. Kate and Sawyer realize that no one can always win, but just once in awhile, you can come out on top.


A/N: I'm not sure how long this story will be. It was originally going to be kind of a pointless short fic, but I think that I might change my mind, because its fun to write. Thank you for reading :) !

Disclaimer: I do not own Lost or anything to do with it, but if I did own Sawyer... ;)

* * *

The day was fresh and deserted, the breeze still balmy, retreating from the greenery of the tree line. It tousled her dark hair as she stood on the sand, looking out over the bright blue of the ocean, no land in the distance to be seen, low lying white clouds sweeping like paint from an artist's brush across the sky. This place told a great lie, it was far less beautiful than it appeared in the forgiving morning's light. From what she knew, no one else was awake yet, still set in a state of dreams, unknowing, perhaps forgetting where they were and who their new friends and enemies were.

Kate sensed a presence behind her, and heard the quiet crunch of the soles of shoes in the sand. She knew it to be one of two people. She turned abruptly to investigate her assumptions, and sure enough, there was a crumpled Tennessee native behind her, sharp-eyed, though otherwise dulled from morning's toll.

His dark blond hair, damp with sweat and humidity fell messily over his forehead, which still held the small wound at the side that she had caused. Kate nearly cringed when she saw it. And yet he was still talking to her.

"Hey, Freckles," Sawyer said quietly, still sleepy. Much less exuberant and sexually concerned than his waking self. "What'ch you doin' out here? Can't be more than 5:00 am."

"Could ask you the same question." She replied, in full wake.

"Couldn't sleep. Suspect it goes the same for you." He yawned and jammed his hands in the pockets of his red plaid flannel shirt. It hung low on his waist, with two buttons undone at the top, and carelessly, with three more open at the bottom, connecting with worn light jeans, a hole in the left knee.

"It looks like a damn romance novel out here." He drawled, noting the pinkish tint to the sky and the washed hue of the sea.

That was a better description than Kate knew she could have come up with. It was beautiful. But it was an illusion. And they both knew that.

"Where are the guns?"

Kate asked, not harshly or angrily. It was just a question. Her eyebrows pressed into a contemplating position, her sword fern eyes sharp and searching his endless light blue ones. She wasn't going to have him trying to turn everything around. This wasn't about them. What they were, or what they weren't.

Sawyer looked at Kate as if he was deeply disappointed in her. He shook his head.

"You always have to wreck the mood, don't you?"

He eyed her pointed nose, her dusting of freckles, her loosely tied back dark hair, which he noticed was acquiring a subtle, albeit deeply ingrained rust-coloured highlight to it, as well as briefly a more southerly region, though he was met by a glare. She crossed her arms over her chest, annoyed.

"Where are they, Sawyer?"

"Hell if I'm gonna tell ya." He drawled. "And it's not like you're going to figure it out on your own. Good luck, Sweetheart."

The atmosphere on the beach seemed to have changed. When exactly, Kate did not notice. It seemed to have darkened, and the pink tint had disappeared. The romanticism had evaporated-not in the way of romance between Sawyer and Kate. There was none there. The romanticism of the scene in general.

"Sawyer." She growled.

"You don't need to know." He said stiffly, with annoyance although lacking anger, that having been (kindly, in his mind) suppressed. He turned and walked away, apparently heading back down the beach. She followed him, realizing she felt like mangy puppy chasing after someone on the side walk, begging to be taken home. It was far from something she enjoyed, but she needed a gun.

"Why can't you just give me one? What difference would it do you? I'm not going to tell anyone else and I'm not quite prepared to shoot _you_ yet."

"Well than I guess I'm gonna need to work a bit harder on that."

"_Sawyer!_"

He turned abruptly around to face her, glaring.

"Stop. You don't need a damn gun and you don't need to chase me around like a damn mosquito, either."

"Why the hell would you even care!"

"Because _I'm _the one with the guns. If I say you can have a damned gun, than you can have a gun. Otherwise, you're gonna have to find some other way to go head hunting. _Bamboo carves_ _nicely_."

"What if we make a trade, then?" Kate asked, faced composed, voice levelled and serious.

"You ain't got nothin' that I want. That's not how bartering works, Sassafras."

Kate just stared at him, expression unchanging.

"Oh, _as if _you _would_. Don't pull _that_ with me."

He turned back around and kept walking. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and removed one, quick to light it. She knew he was stressed, because his supply was dwindling. That was a good sign.

"I do have something you'll want." She swallowed quietly, knowing she'd taken a big step, and likely too soon. She stopped, feet as secure as they could be in the sand, while Sawyer kept walking.

"_Yeah_? What's _that_?" He asked without turning back.

"Your letter."

Her voice hung in the air not unlike church bells tolling after a funeral.

Sawyer turned back around to face her.

"_What _did you say?" He asked roughly, his voice had a dangerous edge of contempt.

Kate did somewhat regret using this device against him. She wasn't going to show it.

"Do you _want_ _it_ or _not_?" She said, her voice solid and unapologetic.

He made his way back to where she stood, and closed the space until there were only six inches between them. She wouldn't back up.

"You _honestly _think you have _the_ _right _to _steal _something that belongs to _me_, and then _expect _something _nice_ from me in _return_, Kate? Do you think you have the damn right to _run _this island? Crown yourself _Amazon Queen_? Mighty damned _Jane_ of all the _apes_?" He said close to her with hostility.

She said nothing, nor did she move.

For a moment, there was only silence and cold stares.

"_I want a gun, Sawyer." _Kate Austen said calmly, before she turned and strode away to the left on the stretch of sandy beach, off in the direction of the trees.

"Before you went an' stole somethin' of _mine_, you really ought to have checked for something of _your own _to be missin'."

Sawyer turned to leave.

Kate looked down and slapped frantically at her pockets when he wasn't looking. It wasn't there. _The plane_.

She always strived to be a step ahead. This time he had beaten her at her own game.

"That's just how it works, Sassafras. _Trust_ ain't the issue here, but I figure you know. When you want your damn plane, you know where to come lookin' for it."

Indeed she did.

James "Sawyer" Ford laid secrecy with her only because she couldn't share it. Sawyer easily swayed away from her, seeming to follow the breeze's advice. He left her standing near the trees, angry, confused, empty and shocked. Just because she broke the rules didn't mean there were any to play by in the first place.


End file.
